


A Fundamental Misconception

by tenlittlebullets



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Begging, Bottoming from the Top, Community: makinghugospin, Dirty Talk, Enjolras rejects your top/bottom dynamics and substitutes his own, Fingerfucking, Kink Meme, M/M, PWP, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenlittlebullets/pseuds/tenlittlebullets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire would recoil before the very thought of undermining any of Enjolras' principles. Except when he discovers that sleeping with a 25-year-old virgin means debunking certain over-hasty assumptions—in which case Grantaire is happy to deliver a very thorough undermining indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fundamental Misconception

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a [prompt](http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/11823.html?thread=3130671#t3130671) on the Les Mis kink meme: "Grantaire fucking Enjolras with his fingers until Enjolras is reduced to a whimpering, shaking, begging mess." Does exactly what it says on the tin.

They lay tangled in the sheets in a haze of afterglow, Enjolras with an arm flung around Grantaire, Grantaire taking a damp cloth to their skin to clean up the mess from where he'd spent between Enjolras' thighs. Or at least, that was his nominal purpose. In truth, there hadn't been any mess left to clean up in quite some time, and Grantaire was mostly enjoying his excuse to run his hand lazily over the most intimate parts of Enjolras' body; not with intent to arouse either of them, simply touching and admiring. He slid the cloth gently over Enjolras' genitals—down the insides of his thighs, cool against the heated flesh—back up to the crease where thigh met buttock, then up along his cleft, finally coming to rest at the base of his spine. Enjolras, sprawled out half on top of Grantaire, let out a little "mmmmmm" noise into Grantaire's chest, melting at the end into a snort of fond exasperation. He disentangled his arm enough to reach back, plucked the cloth from Grantaire's hand, flung it away onto the floor, and guided Grantaire's hand back to its previous position. "There," he said, "I don't think you needed that anymore."

"Mm." Grantaire stroked his thumb idly back and forth across Enjolras' tailbone, and Enjolras' eyes fluttered shut. At length, Grantaire said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Evidently," Enjolras mumbled in the general direction of Grantaire's left nipple.

"Why no buggery? I mean, why'd you make me promise that in particular, before you even agreed to come home with me?"

Enjolras turned his head to look up at Grantaire, his expression still soft, his eyes still not entirely focused. "So that you wouldn't assume that was what I was agreeing to," he said, lucid even in his lethargy. "So that you wouldn't be offended if you asked and I refused."

Grantaire couldn't help laughing, then, and leaned in to kiss Enjolras' forehead. "Me, offended, with you in my bed eager to exchange so many other pleasures. That'd be the day." Enjolras tilted his face up to kiss Grantaire on the lips, and they distracted themselves like that for a while, breathing soft noises of contentment into each other's mouths. Grantaire resumed when they broke apart: "I suppose it's your objection to the specific act that I'm curious about. Especially after the past hour or two. Because, well, from the evidence, I doubt it's the bodily penetration that puts you off—" He drew two of Enjolras' fingers into his mouth in mimicry of their earlier activities, causing Enjolras' cheeks to color faintly. "Nor the lying down to let me take my pleasure from your body. Nor even distaste at the location, because unless I've hopelessly misread your reactions, you quite enjoy being touched—here—" The fingers that had been stroking Enjolras' tailbone slid lower, and Enjolras shivered and hitched a breath.

"No, it's none of those things alone," Enjolras replied in a voice gone oddly breathy. It struck Grantaire that Enjolras' trust in him must be implicit, to allow Grantaire to touch him like this while they discussed Enjolras' aversion to sodomy, without even tensing up under his fingers. Enjolras had never trusted him with anything before. It was an intoxicating feeling, and one that made Grantaire ache to live up to it. So he scrupulously avoided any gesture that could even hint at an attempt to press a finger inside his lover, and simply laid feather-light touches along the delicate skin, giving Enjolras this pleasure for its own sake. Enjolras shivered again, and continued, "I have no desire to participate in acts where one party's gratification comes at the expense of another's discomfort—even pain. That's all. It strikes me that nobody would bother engaging in such practices if they didn't parody the natural form of coitus."

Grantaire, caught off guard, laughed again at that—deeply, helplessly, the vibrations reverberating up through Enjolras' body where he lay atop him. "You think it's painful to be on the receiving end?"

"Isn't it?"

"Oh, sure, if the fellow doing the fucking doesn't know what he's doing, or tries to shove it in dry. But in the right hands... oh, Enjolras. Not only does it not hurt, I'd be willing to cast my lot in with Tiresias, and say the woman gets more pleasure than the man. So to speak. Though I hope I won't be struck blind for saying so, because the gift of foresight would be a poor consolation for never looking upon your thighs again."

Enjolras groaned and smacked Grantaire's shoulder, but without rancor. "You speak from experience, I take it."

"Oh yes. I could demonstrate." He circled his finger enticingly.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "That sounded entirely too hopeful," he remarked, "coming from a man who's already finished twice tonight."

"No, no. I'm all fucked out. Couldn't get it up again if I tried. There'll be no buggery tonight, just as you requested, unless of course you want to have a go at me. But... I could show you the pleasure, if you like. For your gratification, not mine." He grinned, and almost managed to keep the edges of a smirk out of that grin. "Unless you count the gratification of seeing you writhe and beg for more."

Enjolras rolled fully atop Grantaire and propped his chin up in his hands, his elbows digging into Grantaire's chest. "I sincerely doubt _that_ will ever happen," he said, both eyebrows raised now. "But do you know, I'm tempted to see you try."

"And rightly so," Grantaire replied, placing both hands on Enjolras' hips, then sliding them slowly back over his arse in a groping caress. "The satisfaction would be all yours either way. Heads you win, tails I lose. Either you get driven out of your mind with ecstasy—or, if it hurts even for a moment or fails to end with you begging in vain to be fucked, it stops and you get to say 'I told you so.' A fool's bet. But then, when have I been anything but a fool?"

Enjolras kissed him instead of answering that question. "Go ahead, then," he said into Grantaire's mouth. "Do it. Or try."

"Without even letting me explain in filthy detail what I intend to do?"

"Doing's better than explaining." Enjolras arched back into Grantaire's hands, looking down at him expectantly. Under that gaze Grantaire was struck by a wave of painful self-consciousness; he looked at Enjolras lying naked atop him, wordlessly encouraging Grantaire's most vulgar caresses, as though seeing him for the first time. Enjolras' buttocks fit into Grantaire's hands with room left over; Grantaire's fingers felt huge, clumsy, ugly, ill-suited to the task that Enjolras had set for him without even knowing how it was to be executed. And there it was again. Enjolras' trust. Implicit, unquestioning, at least within the narrow domain of the bedroom. Grantaire's heart swelled with equal parts pride and terror.

Without stopping to explain, then, he reached for the candle beside the bed and scraped a chunk of tallow off into his palm. Enjolras watched curiously as he rubbed his hands together, letting the heat of his skin accomplish what the warmth of the summer night had begun, and carefully greased each of the fingers of his right hand in turn.

He returned his fingers to their previous explorations, only this time it _was_ with intent. He would allow one finger to press teasingly to Enjolras' entrance, almost but not quite dipping inside, before resuming its course across the sensitive skin. Or he would circle a fingertip around the rim, increasing the pressure as he went, but break off before achieving any sort of penetration. Let Enjolras wonder, for a little while at least. Let his imagination stoke the anticipation. Let him want.

"I think we've already established that this feels nice," said Enjolras after some time, in a voice that was far too carefully controlled, "but if you were trying to impress me, well..."

Just for a second, Grantaire feared that Enjolras was entirely indifferent to his attentions, but then Enjolras pressed back onto his probing finger, and he understood. It was a challenge. Enjolras wanted _more_. Grantaire grinned and wriggled his finger. "I'm not trying to impress you yet, I'm trying to get you used to the feeling. All the pleasure comes once you've relaxed. Just let it feel nice for a while."

Enjolras harrumphed and laid his head back down on Grantaire's chest, and now he was rocking subtly back into every touch, eager for more pressure, impatient to have Grantaire's finger inside him. Grantaire obliged him, a little bit at a time, pressing in half an inch and then withdrawing, feeling Enjolras' muscles twitch at the loss. Just as he was resolving to stop teasing and get down to business soon, Enjolras looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. "Grantaire," he said, and his timing was perfect, really, "if you're going to do it, just do—oh. _Oh_."

Grantaire looked back at him innocently. "How does that feel?"

Enjolras shuddered, his breathing quickening. "Like you've got your finger where no finger should be," he said through gritted teeth, and his face contracted as though prey to _some_ intense sensation, even if he hadn't yet resolved what that sensation actually was. Grantaire wriggled his finger experimentally, and evidently the sensation was tending towards pleasure, because Enjolras' face slackened and he moaned aloud.

Now that was gratifying. Enjolras hadn't been at all a vocal lover during their earlier exertions, had in fact expressed his appreciation for the talents of Grantaire's mouth chiefly through a white-knuckled hand on his shoulder and another buried in his hair. But now, as Grantaire crooked his finger inside him and tugged at that ring of muscle from within, he ducked his head and buried his face in Grantaire's chest to stifle the half-vocalized gasps emerging from his throat. Grantaire pushed his finger deeper and then withdrew, pushed deeper and then withdrew, and Enjolras made a noise that sounded suspiciously like "nnnnngah" and thrust his hips back to meet him.

"I'll confess I might have cheated a little bit," Grantaire whispered in his ear as Enjolras mouthed wordlessly at his shoulder. "I should have told you that the physical reaction can be almost involuntary. Still, I'd like to hear you beg."

Enjolras pulled himself together at that, though he looked like he was shaking with the effort of not burying his face in the nearest expanse of sheets and biting down hard to stifle his moans. "What's involuntary, now?" he said, breathing fast but normally, his eyes glittering with challenge.

"Well, this, for example." Grantaire added a second finger and _thrust_ into Enjolras.

Enjolras fell apart. He planted his face in Grantaire's shoulder again, nuzzling desperately against him like a very agitated cat, and in between moans he whispered oaths that Grantaire had never heard pass his lips before. "Grantaire—Grantaire, oh God—fuck—Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—do that again—fuck—keep going—"

So Grantaire did. He fucked Enjolras with two thick fingers, and when he found the spot just inside him and to the front that made his hips jerk and his cock drip all over Grantaire's stomach, he used it mercilessly to his advantage. Soon Enjolras gave up on words altogether and just moaned into Grantaire's neck, mouthing incoherently at his skin and rutting backwards with his hips to drive Grantaire's fingers in harder. His cock, fully erect again, dragged over Grantaire's stomach with each thrust.

Grantaire slowed his pace. In fact, he almost stopped, his fingers not moving except to keep up a gentle but firm stroke on Enjolras' prostate. Enjolras growled with frustration and ground against Grantaire's fingers, burying them inside him to the knuckle, but Grantaire just withdrew far enough to resume the same stroke. "Do you like that?" he said softly.

"Liked it better... before," Enjolras gasped, his voice rising half an octave when Grantaire's thumb pressed at the tender place between his balls and his entrance.

"Did you," said Grantaire, drinking in every gasp, every crack in Enjolras' voice. "What do you want now?"

"More," he managed. "More movement, more..." He trailed off, the words not coming.

"I've got two fingers inside you now," Grantaire murmured in his ear. "Do you think you can take three?"

Enjolras closed his eyes, his lips falling open in a moan at the very thought. "Yes," he said without hesitation. "Do it. _Now_ , Grantaire."

Grantaire grinned. Now was the moment to take his sweet time about it; he had Enjolras exactly where he wanted him, it was just a matter of applying the right pressure. "Are you sure?" he said innocently. "I wouldn't want to hurt you, after all." And speaking of applying the right pressure— _there_ , all he had to do was twist his fingers, as though crossing them and uncrossing them inside Enjolras, and Enjolras' face contracted and his breath hissed heavily through his teeth at the stretch. 

"You're not going to hurt me," he panted. "Feels good when you do that. Go on. Give me more."

"Tell me what you want," Grantaire murmured.

Enjolras nearly whined with frustration. "You _know_ what I want."

"I want to hear it from your lips."

Enjolras writhed impatiently on his hand, too hazy with desire for the words to come easily, but once they'd formed they burst forth in a flood. "I want another finger inside me. Want you moving again. I want—hell, Grantaire, I like it when you make me stretch like that. Fuck, yes, just like that. Like you're opening me up. I'd take your whole hand if I could. Another finger isn't so much to ask."

Grantaire almost stopped breathing. He imagined his hand sheathed entirely inside Enjolras—imagined Enjolras _enjoying_ it. Not tonight. Not for a while. Fuck. But he'd have to make a note of it. And to think he'd believed himself on top of the situation, about to hear Enjolras beg for it, and instead Enjolras turned around and said things that turned Grantaire's limbs to jelly at the very thought. He groaned. "All right," he heard himself saying, "all right, here—" And he pushed a third finger inside along with the other two.

Enjolras' hips jerked, his breath growing ever more ragged. "God," he said, " _Grantaire_ —"

"Hurts?" Grantaire watched Enjolras' face anxiously and stilled the motions of his hand.

" _No_ ," Enjolras growled, "but if you don't start moving soon it'll be unbearable." He rolled his hips back and forth, practically fucking himself on Grantaire's fingers, his eyes screwed tightly shut. "Come on, Grantaire, fuck me—please—"

Grantaire's breath caught in his throat. "Say that again."

" _Please fuck me already._ "

 _Fuck_. If Grantaire hadn't already spent the rest of the evening giving release to several years' worth of desperate longing for Enjolras—twice—then that sentence would have made him come on the spot. As it was, his cock twitched but remained stubbornly half-hard, and his voice came out far more cracked and unsteady than he had intended it to. "As you wish," he rasped. He tried to keep his hand from shaking as he drove three fingers into Enjolras, hard.

One of Enjolras' hands clamped down on Grantaire's left shoulder, as though he would come apart if he couldn't hold on to him. The other hand fisted itself in his hair, and he tucked his face into the crook of Grantaire's right shoulder and bit down. He wasn't moaning anymore. His breath was harsh and shallow, in time with Grantaire's thrusts, and with every thrust backwards his head bobbed and his sweat-damp golden curls brushed Grantaire's cheek. He arched his hips up, blindly following Grantaire's hand to seek out _more_ ; Grantaire swore under his breath at the sight, the curve of Enjolras' spine, the swell of his spread buttocks rising and falling with each thrust. 

Grantaire spread his fingers out, just a little bit, wanting Enjolras to feel the stretch again. He was rewarded with a muffled oath and Enjolras' teeth scraping across his neck. "Grantaire," Enjolras rasped, clutching convulsively at his fistful of Grantaire's hair, "more—fuck—" The obscenity sounded even filthier coming from Enjolras' lips, broken in the middle by a catch of his breath. It was followed by a moan when Grantaire slammed his fingers deep inside, buried them right up to where the join of his pinky finger stopped him from going any further. Pulled back and did it again. Again. He fucked Enjolras with his fingers in short, deep thrusts, imagining what it would feel like to do the same thing with his prick, feeling that close slick heat around his fingers and shuddering at the thought of Enjolras engulfing him—riding him—coming apart above him like he was doing right now. Enjolras' hand was bruisingly tight on his shoulder now, other hand clenched in his hair hard enough to hurt, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. His cock slid against Grantaire's belly as he rocked his hips back and forth, rhythmic, half fucking himself on Grantaire's fingers and half grinding into the friction of their bodies pressed together. He wasn't moaning anymore, wasn't nuzzling or mouthing wantonly at Grantaire's neck; intent on his climax now, he simply thrust and clutched at Grantaire, letting slip no noise except his harsh breaths in Grantaire's ear.

Hoping to recapture one of those moans, and realizing Enjolras was so close that one good push would send him right over the edge, he curled his fingers against Enjolras' prostate as he withdrew. "God," he growled, "I wish I could fuck you right now, fuck you properly—bury myself balls deep inside you and feel you open up as you took me all at once."

And that did it. With a ferocious cry, Enjolras came, spending all over both of their bodies. Grantaire kept his fingers inside him all through it, feeling him clench, and spasm, and finally go limp, twitching slightly in the aftershocks. With his free hand he stroked Enjolras' hair, and pulled him in for a kiss when it was over.

At length Enjolras broke the kiss and buried his face in Grantaire's neck. "All right," he said shakily, "you win."

"Mmm?" said Grantaire. "Oh, the bet. Yes. Spectacularly." He pulled his fingers out, wringing another muffled oath out of Enjolras, and wiped them on a disused corner of the bedsheet. "You didn't seem to be trying very hard for the victory there."

"Mmph, well," said Enjolras into his neck, "I know when to cut my losses. By the time you got to two fingers it was obvious that I should just surrender and try to enjoy it as much as possible."

Grantaire chuckled. "So what's my reward? Getting to fuck you into the mattress tomorrow night, I should think."

"No."

Grantaire's heart, swollen to bursting, collapsed in on itself like a deflating balloon.

"No?" he repeated hollowly. "You're still set against—"

"No," Enjolras said again, "what kind of selfish lover do you take me for? If anyone gets the pleasure of being... fucked into the mattress... tomorrow night, I promise it will be you."

And Grantaire found he really couldn't argue with that.


End file.
